


Orbit

by settledownfrohike



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/settledownfrohike/pseuds/settledownfrohike
Summary: A First Date Fic





	1. Chapter 1

The evening was warm and humid, uncharacteristically so. Tactile moisture hung in the air, coating her bare arms and leaving an unexpected chill, tempting her hair into mischevious waves. They walked parallel, fingers not quite grazing but tempted so by centrifugal force, like water swirling at the bottom of a basin. It was a proper date, Mulder having extended the offer at the tail-end of a work day and not before, although he’d obviously been driven to distraction by the idea for most of it. Not much had gotten accomplished, and her feelings of irritation at stasis had been replaced by crackling anticipation, his nervousness eventually making itself visible to her third eye, the way his ill-concealed emotions often did.

He waited until they were outside of the building for propriety’s sake and mumbled his proposal to the ground, the tailored shoulders of his suit hissing against his dress shirt as he shrugged unconvincingly, but the weight of her answer was evident in the clench of his jaw, the worrying of his lip by his canines. The earnestness of it all caused her lips to turn up slightly in a mirthful smirk. Wise words from Maggie about good men and their value were a faint and forgotten echo, but she felt chastised nonetheless at her humor and so her eyes remained wide and serious as always. Yes he was earnest. Right down to the pocketed hands and shuffling feet. She’d granted him no reprieve however, a due penance. She had earned the right to be courted, she thought.

Their New Years kiss had had a playground quality to it. An opportunity taken, a tentative hint at an as yet unmentioned kind of affection. It was pleasant but unsophisticated and lacking motive, leaving room for rejection. Having found none, the suitor must take the next formal step in coaxing forth the object of said affection’s reception. Such a pubescent invitation it was, neither clouded by intention nor lack thereof. A proper date, to a place that might have been just perfect. The kind to nurture a light, guileless memory they could have easily shared three decades before, as innocents, now finding its place awkwardly amongst the present. Finally catching up, it seemed.

“That sounds nice, Mulder,” she said, her voice having taken on a slightly higher pitch to convey enthusiasm, vocal cords consciously constricted tighter to dispel the tremor in her throat. Now who was feeling earnest?

“I haven’t been to the fair in years.”


	2. Ch2

t wasn’t even what one might call a “nice” fair. It wasn’t the kind you’d visit during the harvest or summer, the kind born of nostalgia or celebration. It was the sort of ragtag , nomadic establishment that existed purely for profit, with overly used rides and beleaguered workers, held together with safety pins and sweat. She was regretting not bringing a sweater. For February it had been unseasonably warm in DC, and she’d been unexpectedly pressured by Mulder’s pacing in her living room, so she hadn’t given much forethought to the sleeveless shell and -thank god at least- jeans she’d yanked from her closet. He’d chosen to follow her home and go from there, rather than meeting as she’d offered. He probably thought if given the time she’d change her mind and retract, and she realized with a sliver of shame that he’d probably been right. He’d been adorably chivalrous, opening doors and paying without pretense, and she wanted to tell him she’d gotten the hint already. This was a date. Their first official date, stakeouts and motel room takeout not withstanding.

The ride to the outskirts of Arlington had been quiet. Not tense, but certainly loaded. REO Speed Wagon had blared across the standard speakers upon ignition, Mulder hastily adjusting the volume without comment, clearly flustered. But he’d let the song play. Lyrical poetry about battled feelings winning the day filled the silence, and it wasn’t until “On the Run” started to play that she realized this had been his own personal music, and not fate deciding to throw a playful jab. The urge to grab his hand snuck up on her, but the only available one gripped 2o’clock on the steering wheel. She felt youthful, girlish in this moment, and she wanted it to last. So instead she let the clear night sky and it’s stars play a montage against her window, and the butterflies in her belly do a long forgotten dance.


	3. Ch3

He’s feeling ridiculous for not having brought a change of clothes. The overnight bag in his trunk is full of dirty laundry, and the last thing he wants Scully smelling on their first date is two-week old sour Eu de Muldare. Still. She’d said yes. She said…yes…and even now, as the ferris wheel lights come into view, he’s riding high on the adrenaline spike her genuine enthusiasm to his invitation had produced. Did she know it was a date? He’d taken all the proper precautions: asked her after work, even managed “accompany me”, or mumbled it rather, specifically avoiding phrases like, “Hey Scully” or “wanna check out” that might have hinted at an after hours jaunt into the paranormal. Not that this wasn’t. He’s wondering how many case files he might have hidden away somewhere about spontaneous maturity regression. How one might find themselves possessed by his or her adolescent version, minus the acne and braces. He keeps expecting his voice to break any second, which is why he hasn’t trusted it much yet. Silence is going to have to be golden, at least for now. Loud music on the way to her apartment meant to bolster his confidence had backfired stupendously. Metallica would have at least spared his pride and prowess to an extent. He’s sure he’d already seen her suppress a chuckle or two already. Strike one, he supposes. 

He keeps glancing over at the back of her head as she watches the passing scenery, wondering what she might be thinking, wishing his right hand weren’t too sweaty to reach for her left. He could ask himself what’s so different about tonight? It’s just Scully after all and berate himself for making a mountain out of a molehill, but he’s been purposeful thus far about making tonight different. Special, he hopes, but at the very least, different. He wants to mind his p’s and q’s and put that cotillion class his mother made him attend to good use. He’d even considered calling mom last night in a fit of nostalgia, but it was late and he was a grown man and on the off-chance that Teena disapproved yet again of his choices, he knew the conversation following would be one he’d regret. Like most of the women in his life, he saw her through rose-colored glasses, so he’d kept them on and imagined a conversation with her instead. The kind they might have had if she’d still been the soft-spoken debutante he knew at 12. “Hold the car door for her, Fox. If she’s the kind of girl who will unlock yours on your way ‘round the car, she’s worth keeping.”

Scully…Dana…was the kind of woman who spotted bias a mile a away and demanded he see her as she is. No tinted spectacles need apply. He’d realized long ago that the only moments where he’d felt truly great, were the times when she’d been standing beside him and not behind. That realization had done nothing to assuage the simple fact that he’d had a devastating crush on her since the beginning of their partnership. Seven years of improper timing, grievous mistakes on his part and plain ol’ pussyfooting around can add up quickly. A heartbeat in fact. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had shoved him pass the point of wishful thinking into action, but her expression after his adolescent attempt at a kiss (he was drugged!) at New Years was the green light. She’d been pleased, but hoped for more. Maybe tonight wasn’t more, but it *was* separate, he’d be damned. 

They already loved each other, in a way, boundlessly and proven so, he wasn’t an idiot. But tonight wasn’t going to be forced by fear or injury. He wanted something un-jaded and innocent and unspoiled, borne of want, rather than need. Seeing the ad in the paper on Sunday he saw his inspiration, and felt giddy at the imagery. He wanted her ill-hidden freckles in colored lights, juvenile laughter, her grip on his bicep and a chance to be her champion with a ridiculously oversized teddy bear. He wanted to swing the mallet and ring the bell and win the girl. Tomorrow it would be Wednesday and back to the battle field. Tonight it was still Tuesday and maybe, just maybe he could be Superman and spin their world backwards by sheer will, challenge the gods and turn time on it’s head, remind them both of what they could have been, what they might still be if he had anything to say about it. 

For now though, he was stepping from his car into a fairground mud puddle and soaking his slacks. No time for self-pity, ol’ boy, a lady lay in waiting for her gentleman to open her door, offer his arm, and escort her. Should a puddle be at her feet, he just so happened to have a wrinkled, three-day-old tailored Armani just for the occasion. His ankle was cold, his soaked socks made embarrassing noises as he stepped round to her side of the vehicle when it occurred to him that she had, in fact, waited for him to arrive at her side. Whatever will she’d employed to allow him this frivolous display of nobility, he was eternally grateful. She knew it was a date. Trustful, humoring eyes peer up at him through the reflection of flickering lights and he thought feeling seventeen again might not be such a bad thing, after all.


End file.
